Protect The Curry!
by Valentine Angel
Summary: Nothing comes between a man and his curry - not even a VR-obsessed otaku and 21 Gurlukovich soldiers.


Solid Snake's eyes scanned the white tiled room quickly, before ducking down behind the nearby counter unit, listening, waiting, heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't afford to be caught. Not now.  
  
The moment the sound of footsteps began to die away, Snake hurriedly slid the door to the room shut, so he would be away from the eyes of the menace outside. He knew the other's patrol route. No one but him would be in this room for sometime. Just in case, however, he slid the bolt across the inside of the door also. Satisfied it would hold, he silently began to open cupboard doors, searching desperately for the goal of his mission.  
  
Finally, kept in a sub-zero environment, he found a frost-encrusted packet. Pulling this forth and grimly closing the door from where it came from, he continued his search. One down. Two to go.  
  
A glance over a top shelf, and he'd found the second item he required. A small box. Placing this on the counter, he continued along another storage rack. Finally, he found the metallic object that was essential to his plans.  
  
Now, to get to the contents. He shredded the packets open in a few seconds. He was set. He fished out a lighter from his shirt pocket, and turned a knob on the counter, cursing as his fingers almost caught alight also as he held out the naked flame. The stove was lit.  
  
Making a curry, all for himself, the way he liked it. He couldn't remember the last time he'd selfishly made something to himself. In the military, it was always scheduled cooking for at least twenty people, and now at home, it had to be something that agreed with his friend's weak stomach and oversensitive tastebuds. God. Otacon choked on something as mild as a chicken satay, for crying out loud. And whilst Snake had found it amusing at the time, the earful he'd got for planting a chilli pepper in the sauce of their last meal had almost outweighed the entertainment factor. Almost. But he knew if he tried it again, his partner would use that brain of his and find some way to have non-violent vengeance.  
  
Snake ran the tap for some water, and then tipped rice from the packet into the saucepan, placing it over the heat. That was the easy part. The difficulty would be not letting on to the world outside he was cooking, so his partner wouldn't moan at him for not making him dinner too. He winced as the other pan he'd fetched hissed as he poured cubed chicken into it, the heat already on. A few moments later he heard Otacon's voice.  
  
"What are you -doing- Snake?"  
  
"Uh... just tidying the kitchen!" he called back, banging the saucepan against the stove top to disguise the hissing sound of the underside of the chicken being burnt black at the bottom of it. He quickly turned the heat down, grumbling, and opened up the jar of mixed vegetables and spices.  
  
He had to admit it to himself; it was pretty low for him to be making excuses to cook for himself. He even wondered why he didn't just dial for food. ... Oh yeah. Because Hal would make me get him some too. he thought dryly. He felt in his pocket and there was nothing but loose change. Yup. That would be why. He, a legendary mercenary, was cooking... thank god Hal couldn't see this from the other room, as he stirred the mix in the pan - gently, of course, as not to impair the flavour.  
  
He got himself a plate, and went about serving himself some nosh. The rice was perfect. The spicy mix of vegetables and meat hot. Throwing the various utensils into the sink to wash at some later date (but before white mould began to form); he marched out of the kitchen, and headed to the living room table, in front of the television to eat in peace.  
  
And then he grimaced at it. Hal had one of his DVDs playing. He didn't understand why the guy liked cartoons, but each to their own, he figured. However, the giant robots stomping around brought back some nasty memories and reminders that really reduced his appetite. He got up from the table to find what Otacon was doing, so he knew if he could turn the thing off without his partner getting annoyed. The guy was a true otaku - very bad things happened to people if there were attempts to seperate him from his anime.  
  
Peering into Otacon's bedroom, it was apparant his friend was so bored he was taking multi-tasking to the extreme. He seemed to be simultaneously playing a videogame, downloading something (the scrolling percentage bars across the screen had to mean something), and playing music on the radio, which was being sounded over by the various crashing noises coming from the laptop. Snake decided to leave him to it, and stop his DVD. He only had a pair of hands and two eyes, and they were occupied on a gamepad. It was highly unlikely he could watch the movie as well.  
  
Snake plumped onto the sofa and picked up the remote. He pressed what looked like the stop button. Heck, it was a square shape, it couldn't be mistaken for anything else. Despite this, he somehow managed to skip to chapter 14 on the DVD player.  
  
"Goddamn..." Snake jabbed the same button and ended up on the DVD menu. He pressed what he believed to be the eject button, and the screen flashed up with, "Interviewing the Creator". Successive jabbing of aforementioned button only made the already gibberish subtitled-talk skip between every three words.  
  
Cursing under his breath, Snake pressed the power button. Technology... urgh. There were three remotes and he just couldn't be bothered to find out what button worked it. He turned on to terrestial television, and idly flicked through the channels. It didn't seem to matter how many there were, all of them seemed to show crap.  
  
Before he could finish channel surfing a full rotation, he heard a door behind him swing open - he could have easily prepared himself for a long lecture about not interfering with his DVD, or why hadn't he gotten food for him either, or why was he channel surfing when they had a perfectly good on-screen TV guide... but no. He got the worst question of all.  
  
"Hey, Dave. Can you do me favour?"  
  
... Again?!  
  
"Maybe." he tried to keep the tone as unenthusiastic as possible, hoping, vainly, his friend would catch on he wasn't in the mood. He knew deep inside, however, the odds of Otacon picking up a vibe had roughly the same odds as there was him creating a Vibration Mode in VR.  
  
He'd asked several times before. No such luck.  
  
"I need you to run down to the store." Otacon thrust a scribbled note into Snake's hand.  
  
"Let me eat first?" Snake glowered.  
  
"It'll only take you ten minutes."  
  
"It'll get cold."  
  
"I'll put it on a hot-plate."  
  
"You'll eat it."  
  
"No I won't!"  
  
"I don't believe you."  
  
"For god's sake, Snake, it's just a curry!"  
  
"... It's my curry."  
  
"Get going," snorted Otacon, looking both entertained and annoyed. So defensive over a curry. Really.  
  
As Snake stormed out of the door muttering curses as he went, Otacon's eyes trailed back over to his laptop. The online game he'd been playing had him pitted against a sniper, and it'd made him realize there was a distinct lack of sniper training missions for Snake in VR. Sure, he'd listened to Snake's recall of the training he'd undertaken on the submarine, Discovery, and recreated a "protect Meryl" scenario, but knowing the two were definitely no longer an item, sometimes Snake was quite impassive to the guards surrounding her still, helpless virtual body.  
  
No, he needed a more effective exercise, Otacon mused. And 9 guards was really no challenge for the legendary Solid Snake...  
  
He picked up the plate of curry, and checked his watch. 9 minutes. He could do this.  
  
Snake himself continued muttering darkly all the way back to the apartment. The "buy one get one free" offer was gone on the large crates of beer; his cigarette had just been reduced to paper mush by sudden rainfall, and he'd worn no coat. He was in a bad mood. But the thought of his hot, spicy curry kept him going, and he was salivating by the time he was through the door.  
  
"Did you put it in the kitchen?" Snake called out at once, noting the plate was missing from the table. Maybe Otacon wasn't so cruel; maybe he did understand that he really wanted that curry, nice and warm, and it was now sitting just inside the oven, fresh and good. That would be really nice of him -   
  
"It's in here, Snake. And I need you to test something first."  
  
- the bastard.  
  
"Tough. I'm eating the curry, then I'll test whatever it is you've created." Snake said bluntly, entering Otacon's room, swiftly searching the cluttered desk for one steaming plate of goodness. He was not in the mood to be polite about it. "Give it. I'm eating it."  
  
"I'm afraid you can't." Otacon looked surprisingly superior, despite the visible mounting anger in Snake's expression.  
  
"Give. Me. My. Curry." Snake gritted his teeth.  
  
"No can do. It's about to be consumed." Otacon handed him the VR headset. "Better sit down, you've got a time limit..." He jammed the headset on Snake's head and took advantage of Snake's befuddled state and pushed him into the VR training seat. "Better save that curry. Here we go!"  
  
Snake's vision turned white, and when he could see again, he scanned the virtual landscape in horrified recognition. He looked down. There, 50 metres away from his high tower, was his curry.  
  
"OTACON!" Snake snarled into empty air, but then his eyes widened under a headset that had appeared - he was in his Pliskin uniform - as more guards than he could count began to pour from different areas of the construct.  
  
How many? 21. And all were running determinedly towards his curry. Weapon. He needed a weapon.  
  
PSG-1. PSG-T. The bastards were after his hand-prepared curry. Tranquilizer darts were far too good for them. 250 PSG-1 bullets. Pentazemin was for rookies. He shouldered his rifle and shot like a madman.  
  
In 30 seconds, 8/21 were down, yet some were drawing dangerously close to the vicinity of the plate. He blasted at the nearest ones, one guard refusing to go down gracefully, and so ended up peppered with bullets before collapsing to his knees. Realizing he'd wasted a precious four seconds on the construct, he moved the scope to the right. To his horror, a guard was running full-speed to his curry. Two seconds later - he wasn't. And wouldn't be running anywhere else ever again, for that matter.  
  
12/21. Now the pesky meal-snatching morons were hiding behind the constructs in an attempt not to get shot to death. However, they each made the grave mistake of sticking out their heads to check the coast was clear. Oh, it was clear alright - a perfect clear headshot that let another two fall down before the remainder made a run for it again.  
  
Some travelled down steps, in a neat line. Snake downed 5 this way, as they practically walked into his line of fire.   
  
Then the "hiding-but-expose-the-weakest-part-of-my-body" trick again. One down. One left.  
  
The guy was at a box, right next to the curry. Snake prepared to fire... to his horror, he realized he'd forgotten to reload a clip. He slammed it roughly into the rifle, and panicked as the guard move. Damn his pride; he had no pentazemin to stop the irresistible muscle spasm that came from the fear. Cursing, he trained his sights back on the guard sprinting to the meal, and he let rip with every bullet in the round. One hit the guard's leg, and the pause was enough time for Snake to blast several more rounds. The guard, still reeling in virtual pain, screamed as Snake planted a final bullet to the groin, in pure satisfaction.  
  
"Congrats, Snake!" came Otacon's voice, slightly tinny from inside the machine. It was prerecorded, Snake knew that, but the annoying cheerfulness reminded him he had a scientist to mercilessly beat once he got out of VR. Everything faded away, and he jerked the headset off.  
  
"Well? What did you think of - urk!" Otacon suddenly found himself being lifted as if he were no more than a doll from his desk chair.  
  
"I drop you on the floor unless you tell me where the curry is. On your head," Snake added menacingly, glaring at the dishevelled, bespectacled bundle in his arms that weighed hardly anything at all.  
  
"The curry, or me?"  
  
"Otacon...!"  
  
"Alright, alright! It's under the VR seat." Otacon was relieved as Snake dumped him in the typist's chair, and stooped to pick up his plate.  
  
And froze.  
  
"Hal."  
  
Otacon fidgeted nervously. "Something wrong?"  
  
"... It's cold."  
  
"Ah. Well, you were more than 10 minutes and I was modelling it in VR -"  
  
"... I can't eat it cold."  
  
"Put it in the microwave."  
  
"... It'll taste like crap. And you know it."  
  
Otacon began to sweat, looking incredibly nervous now. He didn't like Snake's tone of voice, not one bit. The guy, as he'd just proven, had gone to many lengths for that curry...  
  
"Um... what s-should I do?" he asked faintly, figuring he might as well face his punishment sooner or later...  
  
Snake turned around, looked him square in the eye, narrowed green into scared hazel. He smirked, stepped in closer, leaned over Otacon's chair, and his hand crept towards his pants... Otacon swallowed nervously. He wasn't. He wasn't. He wasn't going to -   
  
- he did. Snake pulled the credit card swiftly from Hal's back pocket. "I'm going out to eat. See you later."  
  
"But. But -" Otacon stuttered, as Snake walked away, pocketing the card. "You don't have my signature! And I'm already overdrawn!"  
  
Snake shrugged. "I've seen your scrawl of a signature for the last two years. And I'm sure you could hack your account for a loan extension if you need. I just want my food." he grinned, back turned to Otacon as he picked up his coat. "I think I'll eat at the fancy place in town. And then maybe "Mr. Hal Emmerich" will be heading to the rental store for porno..." he placed a hand on the front door handle, Otacon's face pale, mouth open in shock.  
  
"... Oh, and Hal - do you think you'd look good in black lace panties?"  
  
"... Why?"  
  
"You'll be ordering from a fetish catalogue tonight, and be on their mailing lists." Snake shut the door behind him and grinned, the last image in his mind the fearful face of Hal.  
  
First stop: Curry. 


End file.
